


You Are My Sunshine

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Men Crying, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Jaskier turns to him. He can smell the despair radiating off of his songbird as tears, thick as morning dew, cluster on his thick ebony lashes. “You didn’t need to stick around. The dwarves were more than willing to have the tale of their conquest immortalized in－,”“Jaskier.” He says, not unkindly. He knows that he needs to say something, he just doesn’t know what. And the longer he stares at those tears pearling on Jaskier’s lashes, the thicker and heavier his tongue grows in his mouth.“It’s not that I don’t understand.” He continues with a soft, broken bark of laughter. “I know that I can… be a bit much for you to handle at times. And you don’t have to… don’t have to lie to try and make me feel better. I understand, really. B-But I’d thought that I… that we…”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 472





	You Are My Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING(s): There is face-slapping included in this fic. I've tried to make it clear that it's not meant to be interpreted as a domestic violence scenario, but if this sort of content squicks you, please do not proceed further!
> 
> This is just a quick something while I work on getting the longer fic out that should be ready sometime this week. Enjoy <3

It’s late. Much too late to risk the five mile trek back to civilization. If Geralt were on his own, he wouldn’t worry. But he’s not… Or rather, he doesn’t  _ think _ he is. He and Jaskier had been sitting at the base of the mountain since long before the sun descended beyond the horizon, a tense silence between them. He likes to think that the fact that Jaskier hadn’t  _ truly _ tried to leave means that something in all of this mess is salvageable, but he’s never been the most gifted with words and is terrified that, if  _ this _ is his second chance, he’ll ruin it spectacularly. So he bites his tongue and hopes that Jaskier will make the first move… He’s been waiting for  _ hours _ when finally,  _ finally _ －

Jaskier turns to him. He can smell the despair radiating off of his songbird as tears, thick as morning dew, cluster on his thick ebony lashes. “You didn’t need to stick around. The dwarves were more than willing to have the tale of their conquest immortalized in－,”

“Jaskier.” He says, not unkindly. He knows that he needs to say  _ something _ , he just doesn’t know  _ what _ . And the longer he stares at those tears pearling on Jaskier’s lashes, the thicker and heavier his tongue grows in his mouth.

“It’s not that I don’t understand.” He continues with a soft, broken bark of laughter. “I know that I can… be a bit  _ much _ for you to handle at times. And you don’t have to… don’t have to lie to try and make me feel better. I understand, really. B-But I’d thought that I… that  _ we _ …” 

He reaches out, comes within a hair’s breadth of touching Jaskier’s tear-stained cheek, and freezes. Amber eyes search cornflower blue, thoughtful. He feels Jaskier’s pain acutely, as if it is his own. Maybe it is. “I fucked up.”

Jaskier is… unimpressed, “Don’t play me for the fool, Geralt. You knew full-well what you were doing.”

“I just…” he swallows hard, tries to think, “I was hurting. I still am. And I needed to have someone suffer alongside me. You were an easy target, in the wrong place at the wrong time－,”

“Yes, well… Maybe I’m  _ always _ in the wrong place at the wrong time, Geralt. How else would you explain decades of being forced to listen as you won’t even introduce me to others as your  _ friend _ , let alone your lover? Of being told to shut up every time that I have something to contribute, of－,”

And Geralt doesn’t know what to do with the multitude of emotions bubbling up inside of him, let alone with the maelstrom of angst and despair Jaskier is radiating with every last ounce of vitriol he pours into his speech. So he does what comes to mind first－he brushes one sword-calloused thumb over the sharp line of Jaskier’s cheekbone, following it to the jut of his beautifully pouty lips, smearing his tears across his skin. And then he leans in and kisses him, slow and sweet, hoping to convey to the other everything he seemed to be unable to articulate in words. In the blink of an eye, the bardling rears back and slaps him  _ hard _ across the cheek.

It takes a moment for him to register what’s happened, and another for him to realize that the  _ pain _ he feels isn’t actually coming from his face. Jaskier’s wide blue eyes flicker from Geralt’s face, to his hand (which is already taking on a nasty purplish-black color; as it rapidly begins to swell, Geralt starts to become seriously concerned that the bard may’ve broken something)... and then he launches himself at the Witcher’s chest and begins to  _ sob _ . After a long moment, Geralt begins to stroke his back in soothing circles, as he’d done once upon a time when the bard had caught a particularly nasty bug whilst on the road and had spent much of the week vomiting up the little bit of food he could force himself to eat…

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have－,” he wheezes. Geralt doesn’t fault him for the slap. He’s more upset that Jaskier hurt himself so badly carrying it through. “P-Please, you  _ must _ know that I would  _ never _ dream of hurting you. I just… Y-You can’t just  _ kiss _ me. Not l-like that.”

Geralt quirks a brow, “Trying to steal my thunder, little lark? Last I checked, I was supposed to be the one apologizing here.” He says.

“This isn’t a joke, Geralt! I could’ve－,” Jaskier stops, seemingly realizing that he would’ve had to have been trying much harder to cause Geralt any real pain or harm. He borrows a page from the Witcher’s book, grumbling, “ _ Fuck. _ Well isn’t this just one terrific mess, now?”

“Hmm.” It’s not. Not really. Because Jaskier is talking to him, and holding onto him like a lifeline, and that… that’s  _ good _ . Better than. Certainly more than he’d been imagining an hour ago, sitting in the silence beneath the cyprus trees and wondering if Jaskier would ever  _ look _ at him again, let alone speak…

“Geralt…” Jaskier trails, uncertainly.

“Stop fretting, Jaskier. I know you’d never willingly hurt me.” He says, and he means it. Jaskier’s responding smile is like the sun, and it reminds him of a song his mother would sing to him, once upon a time. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… You make me happy, when skies are gray...”

Jaskier blinks, tears brewing in his eyes for an entirely different reason. Geralt is… singing. To him, no less. What kind of alternate dimension did he wander into, and how can he stay here forever? The Witcher shifts, ever so slightly, allowing Jaskier to settle between his legs. This isn’t the most comfortable of positions, but fuck it, he’s already going to be stiff as hell tomorrow from sitting on the forest floor the entire day. And Jaskier isn’t flinching away from his touch this time－instead, he’s hunkering down deeper into his embrace, burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and breathing deeply… until at long last, his breath evens out and he succumbs to slumber. 

There’s still a lot that they need to talk about… but they have the rest of eternity for deep conversations such as those. Tonight, it is enough to know that Jaskier is here. That he hadn’t left. 

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you… So please don’t take, my sunshine, away.”


End file.
